


Origins

by AchievementHunter



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Child Abuse, F/M, FAHC, Fake AH Crew, Gun Violence, I'll add tags/characters as I update, Minor Character Death, Murder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Fake AH Crew, Secret Identity Fail, Transphobia, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:36:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7917097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AchievementHunter/pseuds/AchievementHunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fake AH Crew had to come together some how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boss

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing this bc headcanons so I have no idea how often I'll update but yanno  
> One chapter for each crew member excluding David Dreger
> 
> Wanna request a drabble/one shot?  
> http://fiftyshadesofroosterteeth.tumblr.com/

"Fourteen-year-olds shouldn't be murderers, Geoffrey, that's why we have to leave, pack quickly, okay sweetheart?" And he did, the words of his mother running through his head as snarling snores from the dragon in their house surrounded them. 

They left in his mother’s beat up Maxima and they drove, they ran from Los Santos, never to return. They made it to Shitsville, Florida, staying for mere days before back tracking to New Orleans. Nowhere felt like home so they kept moving. After days of rest stops and sleeping in their car, they made it to Mobile, Alabama. 

Geoff never fully acclimated to anything, expecting to leave at midnight any day. Nightmares were a given, visions of his dad barging into his room, screaming about money Geoff had stolen to get new school supplies, clothes, or shoes. Screaming about anything, really. Every dream ended with a backhand that sent him tumbling to the floor and a scared teenager sitting up in bed, panting. After bad ones he would sneak to his mother’s room to check on her, and after seeing the gun on her nightstand, sneaking back to his room and trying to sleep. 

In the few months before his mother met his step father, Geoff had become someone. A drug runner for the local gang, but he was someone and he finally had money of his own. Cabinets in their small apartment were filled randomly. Excuses to his mother ranged from finding it sitting on the stoop to a kind neighbor offering some extra groceries. The power bill was paid on time for the first time in Geoff’s life, and he liked it. He liked the responsibility, he liked being able to control something.

Geoff got in trouble at “work” one day he was angry. Some druggie pulled a gun on him and demanded all his dope and cash. Of course, as a freshly fifteen-year-old, he complied, giving up everything and subsequently earning himself a backhand from his boss. It wasn’t fair and Geoff vowed never to let it happen again, never to feel that small.

His step father was a kind man. The first time Geoff’s mother brought him home he gave Geoff a once over and deemed him amazing. From then on, unbeknownst to his mother, Geoff became his prodigy, soaking up every detail about gang life and running one. He learned how to handle a gun and how to look good doing it. Luxury suits were all he donned on the streets anymore and when he failed out of high school, it was no matter, he had amassed enough money to live on for years. His step father, though, had other ideas.

The Army had no idea what to do with him when he got there, shoving him into photography just to move him from place to place, hoping he was never in a spot too long and subsequently pissing off one of his bosses. In 1998 he decided he had seen enough of the world and returned home. 

The first heist he was part of when he got home was contract work with his best friend’s crew. It was a simple job, round up some get away jet skis, follow everyone to a remote island just off the coast, get his cut, and leave. Six of the ten guys in the heist died that day and Geoff finally realized just what he had ahead of him if he kept this up. He promised Gus he would never get close to a crew he worked with.

Every job was started without formalities, Geoff told nobody his name and nobody asked. He was called Lazer in some circles, DG in others, Corpirate in one after a heist gone wrong. That heist had been in Los Santos, the first time he dared to set foot back in the city due to the payout. Police had been waiting for them inside the bank vault, one of the guys having tipped them off for an opportunity in witness protection. Geoff watched the boss shoot him right there and then in front of the officers before they shot him. He would remember how the guy crumbled to the floor, he would remember as a bullet whizzed past his ear while he ran to the roof for the escape helicopter, he would remember grabbing the money they had gotten away with and jumping from it, he would remember the first night he spent in Los Santos with seven hundred dollars and nowhere to go. That was 2001 and Geoff was officially stuck in Los Santos from then on.

There were various jobs to keep the bills paid after he found an apartment. Crummy little place on the east side with one bedroom and one window facing the smog filled city. It was home to him and the bar a block down was more of a home. He met Griffon there, a pretty thing covered in tattoos that mixed drinks to keep herself fed. 2003 was the year Geoff fell in love and knew he had someone he had to come home for. 2003 was also the year he and his three best friends made their own crew. They called themselves the Founding Fathers and nowhere was off limits once they got going. The four ruled the city until they started to get older, started to want to settle down, end the game they had been playing. Everyone except Geoff. Geoff wanted to keep playing, so in 2008 he made his own crew with Jack Pattillo, whom he had met in 2007, David Dreger, and a handful of contract workers.

The crew called themselves the Fake Achievement Hunter Crew, FAHC for short. Geoff and Jack would plan and David would call in the firepower and people they needed. It lasted a good while, 2011 brought true change to the crew. David left and they had to find someone with connections to replace him. A man they had used on a couple contract deals earlier in the year was the first person they thought of and Michael Jones was hired to join them on August 15th, 2011.

Michael was trustworthy, he knew how to make a bomb with any material handed to him, but he didn’t have enough connections. February 2012 they brought in Gavin Free. Free had done contract work with the crew since its conception but would rather be sitting in a strip club making business deals than heisting. In March they decided that two old people and stick skinny kids would never be enough so they hired Ryan Haywood. He had been doing freelance work for them since June 2011 and it was time. None of the five men had much ability with a gun, and after sitting down to play video games for a sad excuse of a meeting, they decided to invite Ray Narvaez Jr. the sharpest shooter in Los Santos.

The crew continued their shenanigans, 2013 brought tragedy, however, when David was found dead somewhere in Canada and Geoff remembered what he had promised Gus previously. Geoff was removed from everyone for months until the crew sat him down and demanded to know what was going on. Geoff promised to be better about it, promised he was stuck in his own head, promised the crew he would be back to normal soon. 

It was until 2015 when a heist went wrong. JJ Costillo, one of the men they did most contract work with, died. Soon after, Ray Narvaez Jr. died and the crew wasn’t the same. They didn’t speak for months, all planned heists put off to grieve. Nobody fully recovered before they replaced him in October with Jeremy Dooley. October 16th was the day they decided they had to keep living for Ray.

2016 was easier on the crew. They hired Lindsay Jones after years of contract work to help Geoff. He had finally hit forty and he was getting older, soon to be forty-one, he felt his bones growing weary and he saw his face starting to sag. He had a kid to worry about, a wife, he couldn’t keep risking everything. When Geoff hit forty-one he decided to heist less, drink less, parent more. The crew was happy for him, and even if he wasn’t part of the heist, he still got a cut.


	2. The Pilot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little boys aren’t supposed to play with dolls. Little boys aren’t supposed to wear dresses. Little boys aren’t supposed to this… Little boys aren’t supposed to that… Little boys aren’t supposed to this that this that this that this that this is BULLSHIT.

Little boys aren’t supposed to play with dolls. Little boys aren’t supposed to wear dresses. Little boys aren’t supposed to this… Little boys aren’t supposed to that… Little boys aren’t supposed to this that this that this that this that this is BULLSHIT. But the world was in chaos. Being transgender led to being gay, being gay led to AIDS, AIDS led to death, and Jacks mother couldn’t have little Jack ending up like that. Little Jack wanted to end up like that if it meant she could be herself.

It started simple enough, looking for a legal way to find estrogen pills before being turned around by every disgusted doctor. A ten-year-old had no way of knowing what he wanted. He wouldn’t know until he was older and why would someone chose to be transgender? How did he even know what transgender was? 

Jack learned what transgender was when she was seven and her mother yelled at her about how wrong it was. Yelled at her that “That transgender teacher is teaching you bullshit! You’re changing schools!” Jack had trouble understanding why it was a bad thing she told people at her new school to call her Shannon, it was her middle name after all. Why would they give her a name if she wasn’t allowed to use it?

Jack was fifteen when she got her hands on estrogen. It was black market but she finally had it and that’s all the mattered. Until her mother found it and demanded to know where the pills had come from, when Jack refused, she resolved to beat it out of her with slurs and screams that would haunt her for a lifetime. When Jack’s father was home he did the actual hitting. 

Texas wasn’t home after then but Jack couldn’t afford to bring her sister, and even then, did she want to. Did she want to bring the little brat that called her a boy and agreed with their mother. Rob her parents of their favorite child that only went to school with bruises when she didn’t do homework instead of every day? Was it even worth it when she wouldn’t even care what Jack had done for her? Would demand to go home? If she ran away alone, her parents would never file a missing persons report, they would move on, but if she brought her sister, it would be constant running.

Jack left Texas and ran to Los Santos with five hundred dollars and no idea what the rest of her life was going to be about.

It started simply enough, grabbing wallets out of pockets and spending nights on any couch she could find. Eventually her luck ran out, and she pickpocketed the wrong person. That was the day she met Geoff Ramsey. He greeted her wandering hand with a gun to the temple and a growl to get out of his way. Jack made it her job to get his wallet.

Three weeks of trying brought Jack to her boiling point. Geoff treated it like a game of cat and mouse, always taking the same streets, wallet always poking out of his pocket just a little bit, a snicker when Jack failed again. It took seventeen tries over the next month for Jack to finally snatch it, a note left in its place with her number in case he wanted it back sans cash. Jack, however, wasn’t the only one to leave a note, Geoff offered her a job, big payout if she didn’t die in the process, and a phone number. Jack waited two weeks before she picked up the phone with trembling hands and called.

Less than a year later, the Fake AH Crew was born. Jack loved the crew more than she had ever loved anything. They were her family, the one she never had as a kid, and nobody ever questioned the mornings where she had just a little bit of chin hair and when she came to them with news of her surgery, they whooped and hollered and patted her on the pack. 

Two years later and Dan was dead, Jack went to the wake but never shed a tear or said a word. She did, however, notice Geoff changing. She hated it. When the boys decided to sit him down for a chat, she took the seat next to him.

Two more years, two more tragedies, except one shook the crew to its core, made them reevaluate everything. Jack wondered how the Lads were as she boarded a plane to Texas. She kept her mind on Geoff and wondered if he was drinking too much while she was gone. She wondered if Ryan would be there when she got home, or if he would take his family and run. She wondered up until she knocked on the door to what was once her house and was met with slurs and curses. Slurs and curses and three gunshots.

 

Jack went home. Her real home with her real family, and stayed there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> murdering ur family is fun


	3. The Bomber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael was three days away from turning eight when he let his mother down.

What makes a monster. Are they born terrible or is cruelty embedded in them after watching their mother fall to the ground with a bleeding lip. Is it ingrained in them after hearing their father yell over loud music screeching through headphones as they try and block out their anger. Is it inserted into their subconscious over the feeling of a fist meeting their cheek over and over and over again.

Michael decided when he was seven that he was tired of being hit. So he became the one doing the hitting. Michael was seven when he was expelled from elementary school and he watched his mother cry over him. Michael was seven when his mother made him promise never to be like his father. Michael was seven when he looked at his bruised knuckles and decided for once in his life, to listen to his mother.

Michael was three days away from turning eight when he let his mother down.

A boy at the corner store had called him tiny, told him to get lost. Michael told him that a bloody lip took a week to heal if he was lucky, and gave him one.

By the time he was thirteen Michael was back in school, the year was 2000 and he wouldn’t let anyone stop him. He was going to get his diploma and nothing was going to keep him back from his future. But anger bubbled in the background of his mind. It was always there, excited to get out and blind him with rage. It whispered sweet nothings every time he messed something up or got infuriated. He started listening to it in high school. Sophomore year Michael’s father was called to the school more times than he could count and Michael got backhanded even more times.

It was a cycle, really, Michael would get in trouble at school, get in more trouble at home, threaten to run away, see his mother cry, and know that he couldn’t leave.

The time it went too far was just before graduation. Just before he could get a job and take his mom away from there. Just before just before just before just before just before

She was dead.

She was dead and that man was drunk, lording over her body like he owned her, and Michael. Michael was crying. For the first time since he was six he was crying and running and everything after that was a blur.

It was blurry for months, he didn’t remember anything in time, but in smells. The smell of alcohol, the smell of sex, the smell of breakfast…

That’s when he woke up. Woke up on a couch in a rundown apartment with a person in the kitchen cooking bacon and a glass of water next to him with a note.

_Drink up -Jack_

After downing the water and trying to stand up for a second, he made his way to the kitchen, questions about how he got here on his tongue, swallowed when he saw who Jack was.

The next three months were full of guns and bombs and learning. The weight of a gun felt good in his hand but nothing was more soothing than making a bomb out of anything he could find. His favorite one was the Xbox bomb, set to blow when Geoff booted up his next game.

Michael paid for the replacement after laughing until he was choking on air.

2011 was the year Michael learned how to laugh, learned what it was like to have it rip through your throat and speed up your heart beat. Have it choke you with happiness until you were gasping and holding your chest and praying it never ended.

The months passed quickly after that, the smells came and went, gunpowder and sweat and burnt food and laundry detergent.

Michael learned that he liked hugs. The first time someone hugged him, Gavin had been hollering over a heist gone completely RIGHT for once. No mistakes, no missteps, everything executed perfectly, and he was just so happy he threw himself at his boi. Everyone froze, breath collectively sucked out of all of them, no idea how Michael would react. They had all been so careful. So careful not to touch the boy who had been touched so violently as a child, and when Michael’s arms wrapped around Gavin and he laughed with him, the crew could breathe again.

It started out simple, soft hugs or touches, patting his shoulder when he did something to acclimate him, and after a month they moved on, hugs and linked arms, noogies and cheek kisses from Jack. Michael welcomed it all, learning that not every touch meant violence and hurt. There were moments, though, when Michael would flinch away, leave, avoid anyone touching him. Those days were the hardest, where nobody could comfort the fiery boy with PTSD.

The next day it was ignored and they went back to soft touches and shoulder pats.

Time went on, heists were planned and executed, people came and left the crew, none of which Michael paid much attention to. He couldn’t. Ignoring the problem was all he had known since he was young. He learned to stop ignoring when Ray died. God, he wanted nothing more than to ignore that. He would talk about everything that had happened if it meant he could ignore Ray dying. He’d talk about everything if it meant Ray could have survived.

He disappeared for weeks after that. Shut in his room in the pitch black. At night, when he was just laying down to rest, Ryan would hear the front door open and close oh so quietly, and the next morning people would be dead. Found in back alleys shot more times than it took to kill someone. Los Santos Police were on high alert for the next couple weeks.

The end came when Michael was sneaking out again, ready to get rid of pent up rage, and a light clicked on. Geoff leaned on the wall and seized him up, meeting eyes for a second before they both stepped forward and Michael started to sob, crying into his shoulder over everything. Over Ray, his mother, his father, his childhood, the people he had killed in a blind rage. He cried for an hour with Geoff rubbing his back and a couple mumbled “Me too, buddy” thrown in between gasps for air. That night Michael slept in Jack’s room on the chair next to her bed.

The following year was hard on everyone, they were down a team member, without him, the whole team moved like a clock missing a cog. When heist after heist suffered and Geoff had had enough, Jeremy moved in. Michael hated him, hated the thought of someone replacing Ray, and then he learned to love him for how he was, how individual he was, how original, and what he added to the crew was accepted. There were still moments, though, when Michael looked at him with the resentment of someone who had lost a brother.

Over time, those moments became less, and the moments of laughing together and playing Xbox became more, and Michael was happy.

With his crew, no, his family, he finally felt what it was like to be home, and though Jack would never replace his mom, god rest her soul, she helped him just as much as his mother had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagine them as cops, like chief ramsey, detective jones, etc  
> s/o to noel


	4. The Runner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bedroom was bare bones, the only thing on the walls was a poster that boasted “Los Santos Owns You,” an everyday reminder that one day that would change. He was going to tame this city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna request a drabble/one shot?  
> http://fiftyshadesofroosterteeth.tumblr.com/

Halloween was always Ryan’s favorite holiday. The masks, the creep factor, the free candy, he was LIVING. His parents worried about how much he loved it with hushed whispers behind closed bedroom doors. That was no matter, however, Ryan would run around the house and play in all the masks they would buy him. When he received all A’s in the fourth grade he was rewarded with a terrifying clown mask, evil grin fixed on his face with too red cheeks. His mother suffered many a heart attack when he would run towards her wearing it.

They were always a happy household. A small boy’s giggles resounding through the house while a wife made dinner and husband came home holding a briefcase. The 1980’s were a good time for the family, aforementioned small boy was growing into a strong teenager with a hard head and some tendencies that left his mother and father wondering about what he would do with his life. Ryan knew from the moment he killed the neighbor’s cat what he was going to do with his life.

Somewhere in the 1990’s Ryan found his way to Los Santos, guns blazing. He had never felt more alive than when he had a cop car, or three, behind him, a gun, and a vast expanse of road. The second he landed in the city he knew this was going to be his new playground, and his home in Georgia was pushed to the back of his mind.

Although he was a reckless child, Ryan knew the importance of having a place to live, and a nice one at that. The hunt was on and after reality slapping him of how expensive Los Santos could be, he settled in North on South Rockford Drive, and apartment 13 became home. He covered the dark kitchen in different plants, all herbs and vegetables he could cook with to save money (at least that’s what he told himself, secretly, he loved being responsible for something). The bedroom was bare bones, the only thing on the walls was a poster that boasted “Los Santos Owns You,” an everyday reminder that one day that would change. He was going to tame this city.

Tame it he tried, and ten years later he had gangs hunting him down. Jobs came easily, either he was promised a large take or the entire crew would end up dead. Ryan ran by his own, the Vagabond wandered, never to be in two places at once.

Finally, there was a crew. One where he didn’t see four guys that feared him, rather four guys that just wanted to drink a beer and play a game. The heists were planned well but every one brought a different inside joke.

“Hey Michael remember when you fell through the ceiling.”

“Vagabond remember when you shot that guy in the dick.”

“Jack I can’t believe you fucking shot a plant!”

He would chuckle with them, a low sound that he always kept in check from becoming too loud. His life had changed. He wasn’t an angry teenager trying to find any cop he could for some fun. He wasn’t living on South Rockford, moving to Eclipse Towers some months earlier, taking his ever-growing plant collection with him. His mission of taking over the city was coming to a close.

Ryan’s apartment was more of a formality by the time he was officially invited to join the crew. More nights than not he would sleep at the shared penthouse, eat their food, drink their Diet Coke. When he did go home, he would take off the mask and makeup. Mrs. Sherley next door would receive a knock on her door and an invite to dinner at his place, and the two would cook together and talk about his plants. It was when she passed away four months after they had started their little weekly dinners that Ryan realized he needed them. He needed to feel normal, a man with an apartment covered in plants that was a friend to all his neighbors instead of a cold-blooded killer. He perched in the building lobby the next week, waiting for someone he could help to start up a conversation and have dinner with. That’s how he met a beautiful woman with a smile that stunned him and he found his new dinner partner.

Time came and went, fall turned to winter that became a too hot spring with too much concrete. One particular night, Ryan had been sitting in his room after a heist gone wrong, mask off, face wiped clean, and door locked. It was his fault. Michael had gotten shot and it was his fault, he wasn’t where he was supposed to be, he wasn’t in position. He was screaming at himself, punched a wall to maybe let out some of his anger, and heard a whisper behind him. Taking his hand out of the drywall he turned to see Jack, his eyes sharp and blazing with anger.

And then they softened, because he remembered nobody had seen him without his mask yet. Nobody had seen his face and he was so careful but here Jack was, staring right at him, and he laughed. A slight chuckle because of anyone to see his face he thought it would have been Ray, not Jack. Not the one person in the crew he got along with the least. So, he sat on the edge of his bed and let her shocked eyes stare while patted the space next to him.

“My name is Ryan, by the way.”

They talked for a long time, sometimes about Ryan, sometimes about Jack. She asked him if he would leave the mask off when he was here, home, from now on. He responded with a sigh and she understood.

After that, Jack learned about him, more than anyone else in the small group, she was even invited to his wedding, something she accepted with glee. It was always their secret though, and then Ray died.

And Ryan was calm. Calm enough that everyone was on high alert for the next week, walking around him like he would kill on sight. What they never expected was for him to leave his room without the mask, face paint nowhere in sight. Everyone gaped, including Jack, minds searching for something to say. Michael was the first, something about how he started to doubt Ryan actually had a face after four years of constantly seeing the mask. Gavin was mad, how could someone so creepy be so handsome. The others said nothing, went about what they had been doing previously (fighting over what Geoff claimed to be a banana in Drawful) and Ryan breathed a sigh of relief.

The mask would appear on his head some days, days where he couldn’t look at his own face and know that the heist had gone wrong because of his mistake. Those days were the hardest and he would escape into his apartment to his wife and hug her. Hug her and breathe in the scent of fresh oregano and spilled bowls of cheerios. His children were given special attention those days, picking them up from school with a big hug and coloring together. Sometimes Auntie Jackie would come by, whisper with Ryan, and join them on the floor to color.

As with everything though, time moved forward. The room at headquarters with dusty furniture and a rusted pink gun stayed closed, door never disturbed. The crew moved on, and when Jeremy was official Ryan was back to wearing his mask, making sure he earned the right to see his face like everyone else had. Days passed on a time-lapse, nothing noticed except the position of the sun or moon in the sky, and when Ryan looked to his wife and suggested visiting his parents for the first time in over twenty years, he knew everything had turned out okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half way to the end  
> Also sorry my style changes every chapter lmao
> 
> Edit: I've been trying to keep everything parallel to real life and four hours after posting this it comes out that Ryan has a sister named Tanya and she has a kid named Taylor like fuck me in the ass I do my best but here we are and im not editing this shit


End file.
